


on your knees, take a hold

by crossing_wires



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, BvS bruce has a lot of issues, F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, accidentally catching feelings, but like really vague pegging, diana is doing her best to help, slight warning for sex while high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossing_wires/pseuds/crossing_wires
Summary: Diana could so easily break him in half if she wanted to, and maybe Bruce wants her to, just a little bit.





	

Maybe it starts with this:

The first time he sees her in battle, sees her strike a blow against Doomsday, sees her go toe to toe with the monster and come out on the other side, he remembers finding her at the museum. He remembers taking her arm, steering her into a quiet area, almost barely but not quite threatening her. She could have broken him then, if she had decided to. She could break him now. Rationally, that conclusion should not spark heat in his gut or tight warmth in his chest, but Bruce Wayne dresses as a bat to fight crime. No one has ever accused him of being a rational man.

Or it might start with this:

They've been fighting for hours, going back and forth over something that he will realize in the morning was slightly ridiculous. She grows frustrated, stands to leave, and he moves towards her, arm reaching forward in an ill thought out attempt to stop her. She pushes him up against the wall, hard, harder than a human ever could, and Bruce lets out the smallest noise, a tiny, gasping whimper that seemed to echo in the sudden stillness between them. Diana's eyes lock with his own, mouth open slightly, lips drawn back in surprise. Her arm is tight across his throat and she's holding him just a few inches off the ground, and Bruce is instantly harder than he's ever been in his life. Which, of course, she notices. Diana leaves quickly, leaves him standing there with a truly humiliating boner and an actual blush on his face for the first time since he was fifteen.

But it probably really starts with this:

She asks him to train with her, which is of course ridiculous. She's stronger, faster, and has hundreds of years of experience where he has merely decades. It's a severely unfair match, but he agrees because she's looking at him like she wants to devour him, and he is more than willing to allow her the opportunity. They start slow, learning each others movements and strategies, quickly falling into a comfortable rhythm of strikes and blocks and throws. She holds back her superhuman strength and speed, allowing him to find an opening and flip her onto the ground, and the next thing he knows she's above him, pinning him to the mat by his wrists, knees on either side of his waist, watching serenely as he gets his breath back. 

"I think we need to talk, Bruce," she says, and he nods.

"Yes, please," he says, voice slightly hoarse, and she smiles at him. Tentatively, slightly terrified, he smiles back.

-

The first time, she doesn't tie him up. She holds him down.

He had insisted that they go over limits before hand and she had readily agreed, the two of them paging through lists and picking out what they both liked, things that were yeses and maybes and nos. She had asked him to pick a safe word and he had, and then she had made him hot chocolate and sat quietly with him on the couch in his library, her hand resting lightly on the back of his neck, just the smallest amount of pressure and the shivery trace of her fingernails. 

Later, she had taken his hands and then his wrists, her grip so light he could imagine that she was human, weak and breakable and easy to escape from if he wanted. He knew it wasn't true, could feel it in the strength of her body pressing him back against the nearest bookshelf, but he appreciated her being careful with him, letting him get used to this. It was new and still a bit frightening, and he wanted it so, so badly. She had pinned his hands above his head, held him tightly there just for a moment, and she had kissed him softly. Then she had gone, calling "Tomorrow, Bruce," over her shoulder, and he had stood there for a long time, quiet and contemplative and hopeful.

He goes to her townhouse, a pretty little thing modeled after the French style, built during a short period when people thought that nicer homes meant a nicer city. Laughable, but it did lead to small pockets of beauty. It's a nice place in a nice neighborhood, the kind of area that Batman rarely has any reason to visit. She keeps plants in the windows and there's Thai takeout in the fridge, and her sword and shield hang on a stand near the bedroom door. There are books too, magazines and newspapers, more than he expected, reminding him that she is much more than a simple warrior. 

He should feel unsettled here, in unfamiliar territory, but everything in her apartment feels warm, lived in and welcoming. He can hear the sound of a neighbor moving about on the other side of her kitchen wall, can smell the hint of something sweet baking. The air feels close on his skin, almost solid. This place is nothing like the manor, no vaulted ceilings, no arching hallways, no picture windows covered by thick drapes. He doesn't quite know whether or not he wants to run.

Diana pours glasses of water for both of them, ice clinking against the sides as she places them on the little table in front of the couch. She's dressed down today, wearing jeans and a deep blue hoodie that makes her eyes even brighter than usual. Her feet are bare, pressing small footprints into the carpet, and Bruce feels suddenly awkward and out of place in his slacks and his dress shirt and his tie. They take seats on opposite sides of the couch, sipping their water and exchanging small talk. She's tying to calm him down, ease him into this, but the air is still so close and he has never been good at letting his guard down. He's horrible at it actually, really first class terrible at opening up, but maybe, he thinks, that's ok with her. She's already seen something in him that no one else ever did, looked straight through Brucie Wayne and the Batman both and saw a real part of him buried in all the lies and deceptions. 

Maybe it's alright then. Maybe this time, with Diana, it's safe.

He slides off the couch and goes to his knees in front of her, and Diana smiles softly and beckons him closer until she can run her fingers through his hair and trace his cheekbone with her thumb. Something in him cracks a little, shudders and breaks apart and he feels the muscles in his shoulders finally relax. He rests against her thigh and breathes, and they watch the sun travel across the floor and listen to the noises that drift in through the open window.

Later, Diana leads him into her bedroom and strips him and holds him down, takes him apart piece by piece, and Bruce lets her. The weight of this place, the weight of her, it's not as crushing as he first thought. For now, he isn't running.

-

In an ideal world, Bruce imagines, he would ask her out on a date. He would don one of his best suits and she would wear a red dress, maybe even that same one with the open back that he'd first seen her in, and they would go out to some incredibly expensive restaurant and spend too much money on wine and dessert, and Diana would smile and tease him and pretend to be impressed, and then she would take him back to her apartment and fuck him senseless. In the morning there would be articles on all the local gossip websites and half way legitimate blogs, all wondering about the mystery woman on Bruce Wayne's arm, who she was and where she had come from and if there would be a repeat of their night out. In an ideal world there would be many nights out, some quiet and some extravagant, and eventually Diana would move in with him, or he would move in with her, and the gossip writers would wonder how this woman out of all the others had managed to pin down the illusive Bruce Wayne. In an ideal world, Bruce would stay with Diana as long as she would have him.

But their world is far from ideal, so they spend a quiet weekend in Diana's apartment, fucking and dozing off together and learning how to be around each other, and at the end of the weekend Bruce puts his suit back on and lets Diana knot his tie, lets her push him back against the wall and kiss the breath out of him one more time, and then he heads back across Gotham and Diana Prince boards a plane to Russia and seems to disappear for three weeks. At the end of those three weeks the Russian prime minister is suddenly much more willing to negotiate weapons agreements with the UN, and Bruce swears he sees a wave of familiar black hair in the back of a crowd at one of the press conferences held during the negotiations. It could have been anyone really, but he knows it was her.

He misses her. He misses the comfort of her apartment, the warmth of her skin against his, the strength of her hands as she pinned his wrists to the mattress. He misses it more than he should, and at the end of three weeks the memories of that weekend are already starting to fade, blurred a little at the edges but still leaving a warm feeling in his chest. He wonders if that was it, if that's all he'll have of her, the slowly fading memories she gave him and an echo of calm in the storm of Gotham.

Two more weeks pass and he's just started to believe that she's disappeared again back to wherever it was she was hiding since the 1920s, which of course is when she knocks on his front door and strides back into his life. She brings rope this time, and he can't find it in himself to be angry at her for leaving for so long when her eyes and her smile promise him so many things. So Bruce goes to his knees for her, and she bends to kiss him, and all at once he's falling.

-

So it happens like this, in bits and pieces and weeks and months:

They spend a night together at the lake house, sending Alfred away for a much needed break. Diana uses rope, just a little, just enough to tie his hands to the headboard while she sits on his face and lets him lick her open for nearly an hour, holding herself back until he relaxes into it, until he falls into a sleepy haze, boneless and half hard and completely in her grasp.

She goes to Bangladesh for a week, disappears for two days and then sends him an email from Zimbabwe. Bruce is occupied with an outbreak of rabid crocodiles emerging from the Gotham sewers, so that's fine.

She comes back, and they go to a charity gala together, edge away from the crowd and race to see who can get into the offices at the top floor and find the possibly incriminating files that Bruce is sure are there, and he loses (stupid truth lasso, he could have made the guard talk just as quickly without her magic toy, thank you very much), but somehow it doesn't feel like a loss when she pulls him into a secluded room and presses him against the wall, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging back, exposing his throat to her lips. She eats him alive right there, makes him tremble and growl her name in a voice that breaks into a whimper halfway through. Someone hears them, knocks on the door and asks if everything is alright, and Bruce calls back that everything is fine, rasping and hoarse as she sucks bruises into his throat with her hand down his thousand dollar slacks.

Weeks pass, and he finds Barry Allen, who calls himself "the Flash", and she finds Victor Stone, the cyborg, and Bruce hopes that one day maybe they'll be enough. But that doesn't mean he stops looking, and he spends more than a few nights in the cave with Diana, the two of them poring over news articles and stories online, trying to sort truth from rumors, eventually making an educated guess about where to find the man who everyone says can talk to fish.

One night she ties his hands behind his back and ties his ankles to the bed, puts a collar around his neck and gags him with his own handkerchief, and Bruce loves it, he adores it, the comfortable burn of stretched muscles and the ease of her hands across his back and chest, the tightness across his throat, he adores the feeling of calm spreading through him, the way his limbs feel loose and heavy, adores how easily she pulls him into her arms and holds him. And then the blindfold goes over his eyes and at first it's fine, just another piece of Diana holding him together, and then he sucks in a breath and chokes. Everything crashes around him, too much all at once and he can't move and can't see and can't breath and he can't get out, can't remember where he is or what's happening, he can't see, and then Diana rips the blindfold off. She unties the ropes and the gag and pulls him into her lap, rubs his back in long strokes, waits out the shakes that rattle through his body. He hides against her neck, clings to her, and she covers them both with layers of blankets and holds him long after he stops trembling. She doesn't ask, and they don't use the blindfold again.

He doesn't roll his sleeves up anymore because more often than not there are bruises around his wrists. He finds himself rubbing them absently during the day, savoring the ache of them, and Alfred always notices, hums at him with some amusement and asks if Miss Prince will be stopping by again soon.

Diana always kisses him goodbye now, the kind of kisses that steal his breath, always tells him when she'll probably be back, and he doesn't let himself hope.

-

Some days he hurts. He was young when he first put on the cape and Gotham has had years and years to toss him around and wear down his body, not to mention the strain of simply wearing the suit on a nearly daily basis. The weight of all the body armor isn't good for his back or knees, and he started taking pills for the pain almost a decade ago. His joints ache in the cold and his fingers have been broken so many times, the nerves in his fingers reconnected so often that sometimes he has a hard time picking up a pen. He has to wear a brace on his left leg on particularly bad days, a beautiful, advanced tech thing that almost completely hides how he limps when the pain gets that bad. The scarring on his back and torso had become so noticeable he'd needed plastic surgery. He's broken every bone in his body at least once, and maybe he's just lucky that the effects of his particular brand of vigilante justice have only really started to effect him in the past two years. It's only been the last year and a half or so that the dosage of pain meds had to be increased, only the last year that he started drinking more because the meds weren't doing enough.

Diana has been gone for two months, and the day she finally calls him to let him know she's back in town, Bruce is in so much pain he can barely get out of bed. She's been dealing with some emergency in Nevada that she can't tell him about, though he's incredibly curious about what in the world could be happening in Nevada that requires her attention for two months. He missed her, though he tells himself he shouldn't, can't help the empty hole that made itself a home in his chest when she left. Her voice over the phone is so familiar he aches with it, deep and smooth and calming a part of him he didn't realize needed to be calmed. "Come over," she tells him, the faintest draw of steel in her voice, the very edge of an order, and he didn't realize how much he had missed her, missed this until now. He wants to kneel for her, he wants her to take whatever she wants from him, he wants to give her everything he can, so he grits his teeth and drags himself out of bed, straps the brace on and pops three more pills into his mouth, pocketing the rest of the bottle as he calls for Alfred to get the car out of the garage.

Alfred eyes him doubtfully when Bruce meets him at the entrance, but he opens the door for him without a word and drives him across town to Diana's apartment. He still hurts, climbing up the steps to her door, but the drugs have kicked in and it's a hazy, soft edged kind of pain, the kind of pain he can ignore easily, the kind of constant pain that he's grown used to. And then when she opens the door it's like the pain doesn't even matter any more, it's never mattered, because she smiling at him like he's never seen her smile before, like she's missed him just as much as he missed her, and as soon as he steps across the threshold and she closes the door he goes to his knees and presses his forehead against her hip, breathes out a great shuddering breath and grips her thighs with white knuckled hands as her fingers comb through his hair and she holds him against her side.

He probably took more of the Vicodin than he should have, he thinks, looking up at her with glazed eyes, wondering if the halo of light around her head is from the overhead lamp or if she's actually an angel as well as a god. She chuckles, and maybe he said that last part out loud actually, and then Diana tugs him to his feet and he groans as every joint in his body throbs at once. She starts, looks over him critically, gropes along his leg and finds a corner of the brace, which, funny, he never thought she noticed that before. She also finds the pill bottle in his pocket, rattles it at him with a raised eyebrow, and then she leads him, limping slightly, into the bedroom.

"Missed you," he slurs against her lips as she pushes him down into the mattress, the softness of it a balm against his strained muscles, and she smiles and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"I missed you too, Bruce," she says, "but you shouldn't have come if you were feeling like this. I could have waited another day."

She pushes his shirt open and lets her nails trace up his stomach, just the faintest scratch of them distracting him from the ache in his bones.

"I couldn't have," he tells her, feeling suddenly raw and bare, every mask and lie he's ever built for himself stripped away under her eyes.

Diana bends down, kisses over his heart.

"I know. I know, Bruce," she says, and then she slips her hand into his pants and pulls a whimper from his lips. "I know that you need this. I know how much you've missed this, and I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. But I'm here now, and I'm going to fuck you until you forget I was ever gone."

She smiles gently down at him, and then she bites the side of his neck hard, sucks and licks over the mark, the sting of it welcome and so real after so long without her that all at once he feels like he's cracking apart for her all over again, her hand around his dick so warm and tight and tortuously slow that he starts pleading after barely a minute, begging her for more, begging her to fuck him please because he needs to feel her take everything from him, his lies and his control and every wall he's ever put up, he needs her to break him apart even more than she already has, and he needs her to be there to put him back together again.

"Please, Diana, please, please," and she hushes him, kisses along his throat, open mouthed and barely there, moving slowly upwards until she reaches his mouth, kissing him until his mind is cloudy with her taste. She nuzzles against his cheek, rubs her nose against his, pinches a nipple and twists it until he moans and arches into her.

She calms him, a hand on his throat as she strips him slowly, and then his wrists held tightly in one hand as she stretches him with the other, lights exploding behind his eyes when she works two fingers into him because it's been so goddamn long. She kisses him until he feels boneless and weightless and calm, and he doesn't move an inch when she tells him to stay still while she finds the harness.

"Good boy," she says, smiling into his mouth as she presses into him, slow and smooth, and then she lifts him effortlessly into her lap and fucks him until he comes with a shout against her shoulder, until his world is nothing but a wash of sparks through his body and her arms around him and her smile against his heart.

-

It ends like this, or maybe it simply starts something more:

Diana kisses him the next morning, gentle and consuming, and then she ties his hands to the bed posts.

The sting of her nails across his ribs helps him breath, the tug of the rope around his wrists is grounding, the nips of her teeth at his chest and neck make his entire body warm and loose, but there's something in her eyes today, something that he's never seen before, something that makes him hope.

"I've got you," she promises him. "I've got you, Bruce."

So it's alright. He's coming apart at the seams a bit, but she's got him. She said so. He shudders against her, held tight by her arms and the rope, and knows that she won't let him go.

**Author's Note:**

> debuting on ao3 with some femdom porn <3


End file.
